"The child surprise I never claimed?" Geralt asks. It's not as though he has some other child out there waiting for him, neglected while he never shows up to save the day. But the point isn't to clarify who, but rather what.
To prompt more of the story.
And how exactly it's led to her withdrawing from him so sharply.
"This isn't your way of confessing that you killed a child?"
"The child surprise you haven't claimed yet. Much as we both thought we died before arriving here, we didn't."
And she'll leave it at that. She doesn't want to burden him with more than she has to and on some level -- what can she say? How can she explain to him how important Ciri will become to him when he hasn't even met her yet? How can she articulate how special Ciri is? There aren't words for it.
"No, I didn't kill her, I couldn't go through with delivering her -- but that technicality didn't particularly matter to you then. And she ended up getting possessed anyways -- she's much more powerful than you and I are, Ciri, but she doesn't know how to control it. I tried to make things right. We saved her in the end, I got my chaos back, and you only let me stay because I was the only one who had had any success in helping her control her chaos."
She rubs the scars on her wrists subconsciously. She was healed after but the old scars feel new again considering everything that happened.
"You didn't forgive me. And I know none of this means the same thing to you now but if you woke up with new memories like I did I wouldn't want you thinking I was just pretending like things were the same when they weren't. And as a few people pointed out to me, better you hear it from me than it be revealed by hell or forced out of me."
"So, what? You've been avoiding me because I'll be mad at you in the future?" Geralt asks, trying to parse through Yennefer's logic. She doesn't strike him as angry or even bitter, which is something considering Yennefer's neutral state of existence trends angry and bitter.
And he has to admit at least to himself that the way she takes initiative to tell him might indicate growth on her side. Though her reasoning, that she wants to be the one in control, is pure Yennefer.
But the idea that she avoided him because of what—guilt? That doesn't settle right with him either.
"Whatever you've done, I haven't remembered it yet, and I don't know the girl. I'm glad to here you couldn't go through with murdering her, but... I'm still a little unclear why we couldn't talk this through before."
"You weren't just mad. You held a sword to my neck. And even after I slit my wrists to save the girl you made it clear you couldn't forgive me -- I'm sorry if I needed time to process that and every that came before it." And there it was, some of that venom she's so good at.
She wishes she was more angry and bitter. She's just.... so tired. And it had been easier to pull away than to give him a chance to turn her away again. And she hadn't just been avoiding him, she had avoided most people, save Jaskier and Tech. Jaskier because he already knew and had tried to help her even after she fucked up as royally as she did, and Tech because he doesn't ever seem to judge her, even when he should.
"I can read minds, Geralt, but I could not know how you would respond." And she had to gather herself for the worst case scenario again. And maybe a masochistic part of her had wanted to give him more reason to be angry at her. Because she deserves to be hated for the choices she's made.
He wants to be mad. To stay mad, really. The spite in her tone when she makes that sarcastic comment makes it tempting. He can feel the anger bubbling up in response, not so much born out of animosity as frustration. It should be so easy to snarl back at her. The urge builds in his chest, rising up like steam from a kettle.
But it deflates before he can vent it, collapsing into a knot of concern.
This princess must be very special if he would put a sword to Yennefer over her even after Yen had proven herself no longer a threat. He can almost picture himself doing it, but the image won't quite come into focus in his mind. There must be more to it than that? There's always more to it, isn't there.
"If you had asked me, I could have given you time," he says without must real heat, grousing. "I'm capable of giving you space, if space is what you need."
He's never been one to follow anyone around like a lovesick hound.
Yennefer wants him to be angry too. She wants him to storm off, to lash out, to let her know that no matter the universe she has crossed a line she can't come back from.
She can feel the swirl of emotions as she probes his thoughts. The anger that deflates into concern. But if he understood, if he knew how much he'd come to love the girl, he wouldn't care anymore. And he can wake up any day and understand and decide he doesn't want to talk to her anymore. Better for her to burn the bridge first, isn't it?
Except none of this feels easy.
"I know you are, but I chose the selfish route. Because I'm a selfish person. We both know it."
At his question she becomes a little more somber, a little more quiet. She's still not sure exactly what gave her her chaos back, but she has a theory:
"They say blood and love are the most powerful types of magic -- when it was all over my wrists had healed and I had my chaos back."
"Blood and love are the beginning and the end of more curses than I can count," he acknowledges. It doesn't always end as well as that—whole, but scared. Maybe don't survive that kind of magic.
His concern is, to say the least, undispelled.
The anger is still there, simmering sluggishly, but he can't conjure more of it. Doesn't really bring it to bear. It's more frustration.
It's easy to be frustrated with Yen.
It's hard to be furious when she's already clearly punishing herself.
"You are selfish," he agrees then without malice. "And vain. Prone to acting rashly. And suspicious of others' motives. None of that surprises me, and none of it has pushed me away before. You're so sure I won't forgive you this time?"
"Maybe now you will, not understanding the scope of things." It's not said condescendingly so much as a matter of facts -- hearing what happened and experiencing them, feeling them, are two different things. "But you could wake up another day and remember everything and decide that was the wrong course of action. That there are some things you won't forgive even me for."
But the honest truth? If she can even manage to get close to it? She tries, for him.
"There's not much I'm certain of, at the moment. I don't like that feeling."
"We never know how we'll wake up tomorrow," Geralt points out, not angry enough to raise his voice and not mollified enough to be comforting but uncomfortably situated somewhere in between. As annoyed with his own feelings as he is with her, at this point.
"I won't insult you by promising I won't be angry another day because I wake up with memories of this, or some other future. But I could also wake up tomorrow concussed because of a scuffle with a troll. There's only so much we can be sure of."
Ever, but especially here.
A part of Geralt is still processing the fact he survives. That's its own kind of surprise.
It is uncomfortable. It'd be easier if he was angry. It wouldn't make sense for him to comforting, nor does she deserve his comfort for a multitude of reasons, more than a few ones she made on purpose.
No one is Yennefer's worst enemy more than Yennefer herself. But anger is easier, safer than this unease, this weird in between that they seem to keep finding themselves in here.
"I should have told you I needed time, but I didn't pull away because I didn't trust you."
Well, not completely. How much does Yen ever trust anyone? And her recent memories did involve him holding a sword to her neck and telling her he didn't forgive her but it's just....fucking complicated like everything between them always is. Like he's said before, she trusts him with some things, she's tried here to trust him with more but it's a work in progress that has become only more tangled now.
"I was trying to find my footing again. Make sense of things." And strategize how she wanted to approach all of this with him. She knew that unlike herself, he never asked Jaskier if he survived or not, that he had continued to play off the idea that he didn't. But now he knows he does. That he finds his child surprise and finally claims her. And has that to go back to, someday.
It's all unsatisfying. At least a fight might have provided some catharsis, the sense that they'd cleared the air. A climax to the days of building tension. This, whatever it is, doesn't do that. Instead Geralt's frustrations seem lodged, like undigested food.
She's explained herself, and he can't fault her explanation, even if it doesn't make him happy. It all seems... it all seems so painfully like her.
And like them.
It's a minor irritation on top of it to note that Jaskier had been right. Of course, he had the benefit of remembering what, to Geralt, was still the future.
"I'm glad you've told me," he grumbles, not sounding glad at all. Maybe grateful would have been a better word, though too strong.
"No you're not, not completely. You wish I had told you sooner. You're disappointed. Frustrated, even."
Talking to him was something Jaskier had been encouraging her gently to do, which had helped her get to this point at all. Left to her own devices completely who knows how long she might have dodged the conversation.
And maybe she's pushing him to be angry for reasons other than feeling like she deserves it -- she wants a release as well. Some sort of catharsis, something beyond the sad, mournful feelings she's been wrestling with since she woke up with all these new memories.
"Not really. But I couldn't avoid you forever -- I didn't want to avoid you forever.
"I'm capable of being glad and frustrated at the same time." A fact which might have souned like a joke, but wasn't—rarely would have been. Contrary to popular lore, witchers weren't so immune to feelings.
Even contratictory ones.
"And disappointed," he admits. "After everything we've been together here, I might have hoped for better."
He surprises himself with the realization he had hoped for better. He'd thought here, after what they'd been through together, she would have come to him sooner. That they could have faced her new memories together.
"You weren't wrong to want better." Because what is hope if not desire in another name? And things had been getting better here and then she got these new memories and it felt like she lost her footing again. Even she would not have just pretended nothing happened. Not with him.
But this probably isn't much better.
"It wasn't anything because of you. It's me."
It always is, isn't it? Yennefer is easily spooked, never satisified with anything she has in her life. And if she is, she can't trust it to last. It's a rare, vulnerable confession from Yennefer. One she wouldn't have made to him back home.
There is something about Yennefer admitting fault that isn't as satisfying as he might have imagined, if he ever imagined it. It's evidence of the enormity of what she'd done, and the effect it's had on her.
It's also proof of the lengths of her desperation.
And perhaps it galls him because it's not something he can fix—not something he can accept the blame for whether or not he's especially remorseful. If it were his fault, then he would also have control. It's not a thought he likes about himself, and he doesn't sit with it easily.
She can't help but remember how the conversation went back home:
Some part of me can't help but hope we could begin with
I don't forgive you, Yennefer
That fight or flight instinct kicks in again. Don't tell him what you actually want, don't leave yourself open to being hurt again. Don't --
But she's tired, and he is right. They are not the same here as they were back home. They could try to be better. She could try, maybe.
"I don't want to lose what we have here."
Whatever that is, it's not like they've defined it much beyond admitting they love one another, but for people like them -- maybe that's enough. Even if her love admission only came out because of the damn tunnel of love.
"I don't know," Geralt admits heavily. He's not sure how to handle this. What to do about it.
He can't forgive her for something he doesn't remember, but he also can't ignore what she's told him. It would disrespect her, and it would set them up for more problems in the long run, he can see that well enough. He can't promise that anything he says now will continue to be true if and when he remembers what she does.
"I don't want to lose this either," he tells her then. His expression tightens, pinching slightly around the eyes. "I won't say it's been perfect, but we're doing better than we have in a long time. I don't want to undo all of that on something I haven't even done yet.
Yennefer is capable of being pragmatic -- she knows he won't make promises he can't keep, nor would she want him to. He may wake up someday and feel different and they will have to deal with that when it comes. But that doesn't mean they should stop trying now, does it? Even if it does feel a little like a sandclock that's running out of sand. Who knows when that last grain will fall through.
Of course there's the urge to smash the sandclock and try to have control, but there's always that urge, and where has that gotten her? Them?
"It's a bit of both." It's both what she did and how he responded to it. And hard as it is to hold it, she is so, so tired of being alone. And fighting just for the sake of fighting.
How different things could have been if she had just told him at Melitele's temple what was going on.
"And next time I'm upset, I can try actually talking to you -- we're getting almost decent at it."
It's a joke laced with truth. Communication is never a strong point of theirs. And it's now that she finally reaches out to him, grabbing his hand, letting her fingers curling around his, offering comfort as much as asking for it.
It's not just her who's bad at it. Where Yennefer has an understanding of tact and political niceties. Geralt, on the other hand, has rarely been able to beat around the bush when he does. He might joke that between the two of them, they almost make one complete person in that regard, but it wouldn't be true.
Neither of them is any damn good at expressing their feelings.
Geralt nods, still uncertain. It's a start at least. "I would appreciate that," he says, then with an air of wry self-deprecation. "Jaskier likely would too. He wouldn't have to listen to me complain about it."
That's something, isn't it? Admitting that she got under his skin when she withdrew like that?
Yennefer's eyes widen slightly as he mentions Jaskier. Yes, it's good to know that he wants to hear from her more and that she got under his skin but more importantly --
"You can't let him know I listened to his advice. I will never hear the end of it, if you do."
Yes, she consulted the bard about it. He had been the only one who had also lived through things, and he knew Geralt as well as she did, maybe even better in some ways, loathe as she would be to admit it.
"If you asked Jaskier for advice, you really have been through a lot." Is that a mean thing to say? That might be a mean thing to say. It's also true. While Geralt wouldn't say there's absolutely no way that the Yennefer he knows would go to Jaskier for support, even that is something that's developed here.
"I have, and some of it involved him. We helped each other while I was without my chaos and on the run from the Brotherhood." Which is vague, but she doesn't want to overwhelm Geralt with information either. "And he's been holding all of this to himself since he arrived."
It's hard to ignore how much of a weight that must of been.
"And even when you wouldn't forgive me, he did. He helped me try to make things right. And yes, he did tell me to talk to you, he seemed to believe that no matter how angry you are, it wouldn't change how you felt."
And it's not so much that Yennefer didn't have that kind of faith in Geralt so much as she can't believe herself worthy of such love. And there's that crawling under the skin feeling too -- would that be true if he hadn't bound himself to her, before he really knew who she was?
"And if you do wake up angry at me one day -- don't take it out on him like you did after the mountain, that was real shit of you to do."
Geralt grunts in response to that last admonishment. He can't argue that he didn't take that out on Jaskier, though he might phrase it differently. It's not something worth clarifying. Not when the heart of the matter is the same, and not when she's right in the end. It was shit of him, and it was unfair.
As much as Jaskier could sometimes learn to better mind the mood of his audience.
It's also not lost on him that Yennefer is standing up for someone else. It's growth, in a way. He doesn't think the Yennefer he'd known years ago would have done that.
She's grown a great deal since then, even if she's still the same Yen in others.
All of that seems more than enough reason to set that particular point aside for a moment and focus on others.
"I'm amazed he kept it to himself so long." He doesn't mean it as shade. It's a fact. Jaskier isn't really secretive by nature, and that as Yennefer implied, he's been shouldering quite a burden alone. "At least now he doesn't have to."
Years ago? Probably not. By the time she had met Geralt her heart had become quite hardened. Fighting for others seemed pointless, you rarely succeeded in the end. People in the courts didn't want someone who spoke out for what was right, they wanted someone knowledgeable and pretty. And after she could not save the Queen and Princess of Aedrin she left the courts, dedicating herself only to herself.
Though some would argue that's always been her true dedication. To some extent, it's true. But things have changed. She has changed, not just here, but back home as well. And she is not the only one. She almost laughs when he comments that he's impressed Jaskier could keep such a secret -- maybe once he would have struggled to do so, but the Jaskier who lived a double life as the Sandpiper kept many secrets.
"He did it to protect me, because I told him I did not want to know anything about my future, other than if I survived Sodden."
Maybe Jaskier wouldn't have said it anyways, but she imagines her explicit request made a difference.
"He did seem relieved not to have to anymore, though."
"I don't doubt it." This time there isn't judgment. Geralt is sure that Jaskier felt more than a little lonely being the only one to remember their future. It's always lonely being the only one who knows where you've been and what you've been through.
Geralt didn't have to endure it long in Hell, but he's lived through it before enough times to know.
They all have.
"I'm glad you have each other in that. As terrifying as it is to see the two of you getting along."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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To prompt more of the story.
And how exactly it's led to her withdrawing from him so sharply.
"This isn't your way of confessing that you killed a child?"
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"The child surprise you haven't claimed yet. Much as we both thought we died before arriving here, we didn't."
And she'll leave it at that. She doesn't want to burden him with more than she has to and on some level -- what can she say? How can she explain to him how important Ciri will become to him when he hasn't even met her yet? How can she articulate how special Ciri is? There aren't words for it.
"No, I didn't kill her, I couldn't go through with delivering her -- but that technicality didn't particularly matter to you then. And she ended up getting possessed anyways -- she's much more powerful than you and I are, Ciri, but she doesn't know how to control it. I tried to make things right. We saved her in the end, I got my chaos back, and you only let me stay because I was the only one who had had any success in helping her control her chaos."
She rubs the scars on her wrists subconsciously. She was healed after but the old scars feel new again considering everything that happened.
"You didn't forgive me. And I know none of this means the same thing to you now but if you woke up with new memories like I did I wouldn't want you thinking I was just pretending like things were the same when they weren't. And as a few people pointed out to me, better you hear it from me than it be revealed by hell or forced out of me."
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And he has to admit at least to himself that the way she takes initiative to tell him might indicate growth on her side. Though her reasoning, that she wants to be the one in control, is pure Yennefer.
But the idea that she avoided him because of what—guilt? That doesn't settle right with him either.
"Whatever you've done, I haven't remembered it yet, and I don't know the girl. I'm glad to here you couldn't go through with murdering her, but... I'm still a little unclear why we couldn't talk this through before."
cw: references to suicidal self sacrifice
"You weren't just mad. You held a sword to my neck. And even after I slit my wrists to save the girl you made it clear you couldn't forgive me -- I'm sorry if I needed time to process that and every that came before it." And there it was, some of that venom she's so good at.
She wishes she was more angry and bitter. She's just.... so tired. And it had been easier to pull away than to give him a chance to turn her away again. And she hadn't just been avoiding him, she had avoided most people, save Jaskier and Tech. Jaskier because he already knew and had tried to help her even after she fucked up as royally as she did, and Tech because he doesn't ever seem to judge her, even when he should.
"I can read minds, Geralt, but I could not know how you would respond." And she had to gather herself for the worst case scenario again. And maybe a masochistic part of her had wanted to give him more reason to be angry at her. Because she deserves to be hated for the choices she's made.
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But it deflates before he can vent it, collapsing into a knot of concern.
This princess must be very special if he would put a sword to Yennefer over her even after Yen had proven herself no longer a threat. He can almost picture himself doing it, but the image won't quite come into focus in his mind. There must be more to it than that? There's always more to it, isn't there.
"If you had asked me, I could have given you time," he says without must real heat, grousing. "I'm capable of giving you space, if space is what you need."
He's never been one to follow anyone around like a lovesick hound.
"Your injuries. What became of them?""
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Yennefer wants him to be angry too. She wants him to storm off, to lash out, to let her know that no matter the universe she has crossed a line she can't come back from.
She can feel the swirl of emotions as she probes his thoughts. The anger that deflates into concern. But if he understood, if he knew how much he'd come to love the girl, he wouldn't care anymore. And he can wake up any day and understand and decide he doesn't want to talk to her anymore. Better for her to burn the bridge first, isn't it?
Except none of this feels easy.
"I know you are, but I chose the selfish route. Because I'm a selfish person. We both know it."
At his question she becomes a little more somber, a little more quiet. She's still not sure exactly what gave her her chaos back, but she has a theory:
"They say blood and love are the most powerful types of magic -- when it was all over my wrists had healed and I had my chaos back."
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His concern is, to say the least, undispelled.
The anger is still there, simmering sluggishly, but he can't conjure more of it. Doesn't really bring it to bear. It's more frustration.
It's easy to be frustrated with Yen.
It's hard to be furious when she's already clearly punishing herself.
"You are selfish," he agrees then without malice. "And vain. Prone to acting rashly. And suspicious of others' motives. None of that surprises me, and none of it has pushed me away before. You're so sure I won't forgive you this time?"
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"Maybe now you will, not understanding the scope of things." It's not said condescendingly so much as a matter of facts -- hearing what happened and experiencing them, feeling them, are two different things. "But you could wake up another day and remember everything and decide that was the wrong course of action. That there are some things you won't forgive even me for."
But the honest truth? If she can even manage to get close to it? She tries, for him.
"There's not much I'm certain of, at the moment. I don't like that feeling."
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"I won't insult you by promising I won't be angry another day because I wake up with memories of this, or some other future. But I could also wake up tomorrow concussed because of a scuffle with a troll. There's only so much we can be sure of."
Ever, but especially here.
A part of Geralt is still processing the fact he survives. That's its own kind of surprise.
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It is uncomfortable. It'd be easier if he was angry. It wouldn't make sense for him to comforting, nor does she deserve his comfort for a multitude of reasons, more than a few ones she made on purpose.
No one is Yennefer's worst enemy more than Yennefer herself. But anger is easier, safer than this unease, this weird in between that they seem to keep finding themselves in here.
"I should have told you I needed time, but I didn't pull away because I didn't trust you."
Well, not completely. How much does Yen ever trust anyone? And her recent memories did involve him holding a sword to her neck and telling her he didn't forgive her but it's just....fucking complicated like everything between them always is. Like he's said before, she trusts him with some things, she's tried here to trust him with more but it's a work in progress that has become only more tangled now.
"I was trying to find my footing again. Make sense of things." And strategize how she wanted to approach all of this with him. She knew that unlike herself, he never asked Jaskier if he survived or not, that he had continued to play off the idea that he didn't. But now he knows he does. That he finds his child surprise and finally claims her. And has that to go back to, someday.
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She's explained herself, and he can't fault her explanation, even if it doesn't make him happy. It all seems... it all seems so painfully like her.
And like them.
It's a minor irritation on top of it to note that Jaskier had been right. Of course, he had the benefit of remembering what, to Geralt, was still the future.
"I'm glad you've told me," he grumbles, not sounding glad at all. Maybe grateful would have been a better word, though too strong.
"Did you make sense of things?"
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"No you're not, not completely. You wish I had told you sooner. You're disappointed. Frustrated, even."
Talking to him was something Jaskier had been encouraging her gently to do, which had helped her get to this point at all. Left to her own devices completely who knows how long she might have dodged the conversation.
And maybe she's pushing him to be angry for reasons other than feeling like she deserves it -- she wants a release as well. Some sort of catharsis, something beyond the sad, mournful feelings she's been wrestling with since she woke up with all these new memories.
"Not really. But I couldn't avoid you forever -- I didn't want to avoid you forever.
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Even contratictory ones.
"And disappointed," he admits. "After everything we've been together here, I might have hoped for better."
He surprises himself with the realization he had hoped for better. He'd thought here, after what they'd been through together, she would have come to him sooner. That they could have faced her new memories together.
"I know what hope comes to mot times."
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"You weren't wrong to want better." Because what is hope if not desire in another name? And things had been getting better here and then she got these new memories and it felt like she lost her footing again. Even she would not have just pretended nothing happened. Not with him.
But this probably isn't much better.
"It wasn't anything because of you. It's me."
It always is, isn't it? Yennefer is easily spooked, never satisified with anything she has in her life. And if she is, she can't trust it to last. It's a rare, vulnerable confession from Yennefer. One she wouldn't have made to him back home.
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It's also proof of the lengths of her desperation.
And perhaps it galls him because it's not something he can fix—not something he can accept the blame for whether or not he's especially remorseful. If it were his fault, then he would also have control. It's not a thought he likes about himself, and he doesn't sit with it easily.
"And where does that leave us?"
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"It depends on what you want."
She can't help but remember how the conversation went back home:
Some part of me can't help but hope we could begin with
I don't forgive you, Yennefer
That fight or flight instinct kicks in again. Don't tell him what you actually want, don't leave yourself open to being hurt again. Don't --
But she's tired, and he is right. They are not the same here as they were back home. They could try to be better. She could try, maybe.
"I don't want to lose what we have here."
Whatever that is, it's not like they've defined it much beyond admitting they love one another, but for people like them -- maybe that's enough. Even if her love admission only came out because of the damn tunnel of love.
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He can't forgive her for something he doesn't remember, but he also can't ignore what she's told him. It would disrespect her, and it would set them up for more problems in the long run, he can see that well enough. He can't promise that anything he says now will continue to be true if and when he remembers what she does.
"I don't want to lose this either," he tells her then. His expression tightens, pinching slightly around the eyes. "I won't say it's been perfect, but we're doing better than we have in a long time. I don't want to undo all of that on something I haven't even done yet.
"Or you haven't. However that works."
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Yennefer is capable of being pragmatic -- she knows he won't make promises he can't keep, nor would she want him to. He may wake up someday and feel different and they will have to deal with that when it comes. But that doesn't mean they should stop trying now, does it? Even if it does feel a little like a sandclock that's running out of sand. Who knows when that last grain will fall through.
Of course there's the urge to smash the sandclock and try to have control, but there's always that urge, and where has that gotten her? Them?
"It's a bit of both." It's both what she did and how he responded to it. And hard as it is to hold it, she is so, so tired of being alone. And fighting just for the sake of fighting.
How different things could have been if she had just told him at Melitele's temple what was going on.
"And next time I'm upset, I can try actually talking to you -- we're getting almost decent at it."
It's a joke laced with truth. Communication is never a strong point of theirs. And it's now that she finally reaches out to him, grabbing his hand, letting her fingers curling around his, offering comfort as much as asking for it.
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Neither of them is any damn good at expressing their feelings.
Geralt nods, still uncertain. It's a start at least. "I would appreciate that," he says, then with an air of wry self-deprecation. "Jaskier likely would too. He wouldn't have to listen to me complain about it."
That's something, isn't it? Admitting that she got under his skin when she withdrew like that?
And that he'd like to hear from her more.
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Yennefer's eyes widen slightly as he mentions Jaskier. Yes, it's good to know that he wants to hear from her more and that she got under his skin but more importantly --
"You can't let him know I listened to his advice. I will never hear the end of it, if you do."
Yes, she consulted the bard about it. He had been the only one who had also lived through things, and he knew Geralt as well as she did, maybe even better in some ways, loathe as she would be to admit it.
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And gradually.
"Did he really tell you to talk to me?"
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"I have, and some of it involved him. We helped each other while I was without my chaos and on the run from the Brotherhood." Which is vague, but she doesn't want to overwhelm Geralt with information either. "And he's been holding all of this to himself since he arrived."
It's hard to ignore how much of a weight that must of been.
"And even when you wouldn't forgive me, he did. He helped me try to make things right. And yes, he did tell me to talk to you, he seemed to believe that no matter how angry you are, it wouldn't change how you felt."
And it's not so much that Yennefer didn't have that kind of faith in Geralt so much as she can't believe herself worthy of such love. And there's that crawling under the skin feeling too -- would that be true if he hadn't bound himself to her, before he really knew who she was?
"And if you do wake up angry at me one day -- don't take it out on him like you did after the mountain, that was real shit of you to do."
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As much as Jaskier could sometimes learn to better mind the mood of his audience.
It's also not lost on him that Yennefer is standing up for someone else. It's growth, in a way. He doesn't think the Yennefer he'd known years ago would have done that.
She's grown a great deal since then, even if she's still the same Yen in others.
All of that seems more than enough reason to set that particular point aside for a moment and focus on others.
"I'm amazed he kept it to himself so long." He doesn't mean it as shade. It's a fact. Jaskier isn't really secretive by nature, and that as Yennefer implied, he's been shouldering quite a burden alone. "At least now he doesn't have to."
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Years ago? Probably not. By the time she had met Geralt her heart had become quite hardened. Fighting for others seemed pointless, you rarely succeeded in the end. People in the courts didn't want someone who spoke out for what was right, they wanted someone knowledgeable and pretty. And after she could not save the Queen and Princess of Aedrin she left the courts, dedicating herself only to herself.
Though some would argue that's always been her true dedication. To some extent, it's true. But things have changed. She has changed, not just here, but back home as well. And she is not the only one. She almost laughs when he comments that he's impressed Jaskier could keep such a secret -- maybe once he would have struggled to do so, but the Jaskier who lived a double life as the Sandpiper kept many secrets.
"He did it to protect me, because I told him I did not want to know anything about my future, other than if I survived Sodden."
Maybe Jaskier wouldn't have said it anyways, but she imagines her explicit request made a difference.
"He did seem relieved not to have to anymore, though."
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Geralt didn't have to endure it long in Hell, but he's lived through it before enough times to know.
They all have.
"I'm glad you have each other in that. As terrifying as it is to see the two of you getting along."
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OH MY GOD I thought I'd replied to this!
no worries, notifs were so wonky, it happens
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end?